


Picture It

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is thrown into turmoil by two dark secrets from the past.  One his partner’s, the other his own.  One secret his Aunt Amy has kept from him.  Illya’s secret he can handle, it’s his own that he has trouble coming to terms with.  How should he handle it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture It

Napoleon Solo was understandably curious when he walked into his partner’s office to find him chuckling over an interoffice memo, watching him crumble it up and chucking it into a nearby trash receptacle. The dark-haired American set down the folder he had brought with him then reach down to pull out the crumpled note.

“Napoleon, surely you have enough memos of your own to read without digging through garbage to read mine,” Illya remarked with a little irritation. 

Napoleon perched on the end of the desk wondering what his partner had found so amusing, he smooth out the wadded paper, unaware of the look of apprehension on Illya’s face. A frown appeared as Napoleon read the contents but he managed to ask calmly, “I’m glad you find this so amusing. Do you get this kind of mail often?”

Illya leaned back in his chair not sure how to answer that. “Every once in awhile. Does the fact bother you?”

Napoleon reread the memo then glanced into empty space before trying to come up with an answer to the question. Was he bothered or not? The memo opened a whole new line of thought that he’d not really considered before. With a rueful sigh he replied, “I’m not sure yet.” Searching his memories, he tried to think what the two of them had ever done to cause someone to write such a memo. The memo suggested, in highly unflattering terms, that the two partners relationship was something other than professional. 

“Obviously it doesn’t bother you.”

Illya shrugged. “You get use to it after awhile.”

After awhile? That meant this had been going on for some time. Solo was somewhat bothered to realize something of this nature had been going on yet he hadn’t even been aware of it. It didn’t speak well of his abilities as an agent nor as a friend. “Have you ever thought…?”

“Of course not!” Illya harshly interrupted, desperate to change the subject. “Napoleon, did you have a reason for being here other than reading my mail?”

Wading the crumbled paper to toss it back into the garbage, Napoleon pushed the problem to the back of his mind. Picking up and opening the file he’d brought in, he turned the contents toward his partner. “This is one Matthew Clark. For some reason Mr. Waverly feels he has a tenuous connection to THRUSH. It will be our job to find out one way or another if it’s true.”

The blond Russian leaned forward to study the information in the folder. The assignment seemed easy enough, almost too easy. According to the file, Matthew Clark appeared to be a meek, mild-mannered accountant who worked in an office building in the financial district.  
“Why us?” 

Napoleon shrugged. “Things have been rather quiet of late and I thought you might like to have a chance to hone up your breaking and entering skills.” He did his best to keep a smile off his face as Illya’s eyes suddenly sparked with enthusiasm. If there was anything the Russian liked better than blowing up things it was breaking and entering.

An attractive brunette entered the office and handed another folder to Solo. “Here are the plans you requested,” she said throatily before pouting. “I suppose this means our date for tonight is off?” 

“I figure that we should know one way or another by eight o’clock?” Passing the file to Illya, Napoleon turned his eyes turned to catch his partner’s and receiving a confirming nod. “So what if I pick you up say… around nine?” he asked, placing his arm around her waist to pull her close. 

“Napoleon! Could you please stay on track?” Illya interrupted before it could turn into a passionate scene.

The brunette glanced at the Russian before reluctantly pulling away from his partner and saying wistfully, “I’ll look forward to it.” Napoleon’s eyes followed her as she turned and sashayed out the door.

Shaking his head, Illya debated trying to get his partner on track again before opening the folder they’d just received. The building in question had a security system that rivaled U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Kuryakin glanced up at his partner. “We will need some sort of distraction.”

“Already in the works,” Napoleon said smugly his mind still on the brunette that had just exited.

 

It was five o’clock as the two agents stood in an inconspicuous location to watch the personnel leave the building for the day. Napoleon had refused to tell Illya what his plan was to distract the guards so they could get to the 9th floor to search Clark’s office. He wanted it to be a surprise.

Illya nudged his partner as he spotted Clark signing out and leaving the building. With a side wards glance, he noted Napoleon, his eyes crinkled with amusement, checking his watch and looking toward the door. Both double doors were opening for a large cake to be wheeled in.

Illya turned an astonished gaze at his friend - surely this was not his diversion - before turning back to watch how it played out. One of the guards had gone around the desk to question the men who were carting in the cake.

Napoleon looked down at his watch again. “Three…two…one,” he muttered and right on cue a very attractive blonde, sans clothing, popped out of the cake. Not bothering to watch the reaction that was caused, he pushed his partner towards the stairways to hurriedly make their way upward. 

As they raced up the stairs, Illya grumbled, “Really, Napoleon!”

Napoleon found it hard to suppress a chuckle. “Well it worked, didn’t it? Hurry up, I figure that will keep them occupied for at least five minutes.” 

They arrived at the top of the stair with two minutes to spare and after checking for alarms exited onto the roof. Carefully keeping away from the camera they knew to be mounted, they made their way to the ventilating shaft. They had decided the best way to enter was through the shaft because the plans showed it to be large enough for easy access. This in itself had Illya worried; if this was a THRUSH building, they were making it almost too easy. He plied the cover off and stood back to allow Napoleon to go first. The two agents crawled through the shaft until they were over Clark’s office. They sat a few minutes listening to make sure all was clear before Illya carefully removed the grill then moved back to allow Napoleon to go down first.

Napoleon swung down and paused for a moment making sure all was quiet before moving out of the way to let the younger man drop down. Without a word, the two men split up. Illya removing a camera from his jacket moved toward the filing cabinets while Napoleon gravitated to the desk to search for anything to substantiate Mr. Waverly’s suspicions. Searching the desk efficiently, Napoleon knew instinctively that anything incriminating would not be left out in the open. Having searched all the drawers and coming up empty, he arrived at the conclusion that he was right. He paused to let his eyes wander around the room. 

Glancing toward his partner who was busily taking photographs of certain documents, Napoleon’s eyes found a wall hanging that looked as if it might be hiding a safe. Making his way over he let a satisfied smile spread across his face when he found that he was right. Making sure no alarms were attached, he took a special item from his pocket, placed it against the safe and with careful manipulation managed to open it. Reaching in, he pulled out several folders, setting them aside for Illya to photograph. Ready to abandon his search of the safe, he spied a box at the very back and reached in to extract it. 

Standing next to Napoleon, Illya continued snapping pictures of the documents. He wasn’t paying much attention as Napoleon opened the box, until he heard a loud gasp. Coming up behind his partner, he glanced over his shoulder to see sexually explicit photos – in other words porn. Calmly turning away to find more items to photograph, he remarked dryly, “Well, we now know Clark’s secret. It doesn’t appear to have anything to do with THRUSH.” 

Napoleon, taken aback by the nature of the pictures, shuffled through the pictures when he spotted a familiar face. A younger face but, the blond hair and the square jaw were the same. A bit fazed, he called over his shoulder, “Illya?” 

Illya glanced back. “Napoleon, surely you have something better to do than look…” he paused as Napoleon stopped, pulled a photo from the pile and without looking at his partner held it over his shoulder for him to view. Coming up behind him’ Illya took the photo, looked at it, and caught his breath. “Oh shit.”

Napoleon looking over his shoulder noticed his partner’s face grow ashen. Just then a sound came from the hallway. He snatched the photo back as Illya went to the door to check out the disturbance.

Illya glanced out to see a cleaning crew entering a room several doors down. His mind was in a turmoil as he turned back to see his partner shoving items back into the safe and closing it. Napoleon motioned him to come to where they could leave the way they had come. He did as he was bid only to pause before accepting the helping hand to say, “Napoleon, I can explain.”

“Later,” Napoleon said shaking his head as he pushed his partner up into the shaft and waited for the hand that came down to pull himself up. After all it wasn’t any of his business if Illya enjoyed that sort of thing. However, coming after the memo it was rather disconcerting. And, well- he really didn’t want to discuss it. 

They made their way up and out of the building in silence. Illya opened and closed his mouth several times during the drive back to headquarters, wanting to try to explain. Somehow, he realized, there was not an acceptable explanation for the photo. He was in a quandary as to what to do. It had all happened years ago, and he’d been careful never to repeat it since, hard as it had been not to, but he felt trying to get this across to Napoleon would be useless. He was not sure Napoleon would understand.

Napoleon tried to keep his face neutral as they drove back to headquarters. He wasn’t sure what to think so he decided not to until he had more time. Sending Illya off to have the film developed, he made his way to the secretarial pool and used his charming smile. “Mind if I use your typewriter for a while?” he asked one of the girls who was not busy.

Flattered to be singled out, the young lady got out of her seat. “Sure. I’d be happy to type anything for you.”

Napoleon smiled as he shook his head and sat down. “No need. Ah, do you have a copy of the report form?” he asked, then was rewarded when she found it and adjusted the typewriter for him saving him the time. Sitting there for a few minutes to marshal his thoughts, he stuck out his tongue as he started to expertly two-finger type his report. Several minutes later he pulled the report out of the typewriter with satisfaction, and with a warm smile for the young lady left to hand it in to Mr. Waverly.

He met Illya coming back from the photography lab with copies of the pictures he’d taken. “Anything interesting?” he asked.

“Not really…,Napoleon, I …can explain.” Illya struggled to put into words some type of explanation.

“You don’t need to explain anything. It’s none of my business,” Napoleon said sharply as he took the pictures and prepared to enter Waverly’s office. “Why don’t you go home?”

“But…our report?” Illya asked anxiously.

“It’s already done,” Napoleon said turning to enter Waverly’s office. Noting the paleness of his partner’s face, he added. “And it’s none of Waverly’s business either.”

Illya stood there watching his partner’s back as he entered the office wondering what was going through Napoleon’s mind. Making up his mind, he knew that going home was not an option. He would have to go back to that office to retrieve the incriminating photograph. Hurrying away, he thought through how he would make his way back to the building, up to the roof, down to the office, reopen the safe, somehow manage to do it without being caught. Everything went well until he opened the safe. The box was empty.

 

The pictures had been in there; they should be in there. Illya closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall. “Napoleon!” he whispered as he realized his partner must have pocketed the photos before they had left the office. Putting everything back, and carefully closing the safe, he debated on calling his friend. First, he had to get back out of the building without being caught.

Once he made it back out to the car, he took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. That Napoleon had the pictures he was certain. For what purpose, he didn’t know. Pulling out his communicator he contacted headquarters only to be informed that Napoleon had already left. As he drove away he pondered what he should do? Should he confront Napoleon about it or not? Then he remembered that Napoleon had a date tonight. Oh well, he had broken and entered twice tonight already, surely one more time wouldn’t hurt. His decision made, he headed towards Napoleon’s apartment building. Illya entered the building and made his way to Napoleon’s apartment, entering thinking to find it empty.

Napoleon sat in his darkened apartment, one small lamp the only illumination, pondering the photo of his partner. He knew it shouldn’t bother him, but somehow it did. To see in black and white the taciturn Russian, his taciturn Russian, allowing someone to do that to him - hurt. He didn’t understand why he felt that way especially, since their relationship wasn’t like that. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to remove all the pictures. He could not help but wonder why Matthew Clark had a picture of Illya in his safe? This made him examine the other pictures more closely. His eyes widened as he recognized other faces. Not all the faces were familiar, but some were well-known politicians, comedians, and actors. Blackmail? But in that case, why keep a photo of Illya? It didn’t make any sense. Then as his eyes lit on the last picture, his heart almost stopped beating. 

He heard the door open and knew who it was without looking. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” .

Illya almost went into cardiac arrest. “I assumed you would be out,” he said once his heart started beating again.

“I canceled,” Napoleon said shortly.

Illya walked quietly to stand behind the chair Napoleon had taken, his back to the door. “Napoleon, I was wondering if I could have…?” 

He need not have bothered, as Napoleon held up the picture in question for him to take. He glanced at it as he took it, making sure it was the right one before savagely tearing it into little pieces. 

Napoleon, amused in spite of himself at the ripping sounds, cleared his throat as he held up a roll of film negatives. “You might want this as well.” He removed his lighter from his pocket as Illya snatched the roll from his hand and passed it back to him receiving a grunt of thanks in reply. “You were in good company you know,” Napoleon said casually as he spread the other photos out for Illya to see.

Illya, having had the satisfaction of burning the negatives came around to examine the photos. “Isn’t that…?” he stated in surprise when he spotted the face of a well-known comedian in one of the photos.

“Ahumm,” Napoleon replied.

“Blackmail?”

“That’s what I thought at first,” Napoleon answered. Somehow, he knew that this wasn’t the case. Illya’s surprise at seeing the photo was enough to convince him that he’d never been contacted about it. “I just want to know one thing. Where and when?”

Illya started to say that is two things but only asked, “Why?” as he reached out to pick up one of the photos.

Napoleon leaned forward in his chair and grabbed his arm roughly. “Where and when?” he repeated, his eyes hard.

Illya jerked his arm away and rubbed it. “London…ten years ago.” 

Leaning back, Napoleon closed his eyes –ten years, London- he dropped the photo he’d been holding in his other hand to the floor.

Puzzled, Illya looked over to his friend and then bent down to pick up the picture. He could not help gasping as he recognized the face of the man in the photo. “Napoleon, isn’t this….? I thought he was dead,” he asked in shock.

Softly Napoleon responded, “I thought so too. “ 

He had been ten when he had been told his parents had died; yet here was proof that ten years ago his father was still alive. Proof. In the form of a black and white photo of his father banging away at another man. He didn’t know whether to feel revulsion or what. “Aunt Amy always said…” He hurriedly got up, taking back the picture and knocking over the table, he had to get away, confront his aunt, find out the truth.

Illya grabbed at his arm. “Maybe it is not him or maybe it is an older photo?”

“It is him. I know it. Look. The other man in the pictures, he’s in all of them, the same man, wearing the same clothes as in yours.” Napoleon’s voice was rough with anger as he pulled away and went to the door. “Let yourself out,” he called back as he hurried away not really sure what he planned to do.

 

He reached his Aunt Amy’s apartment, his mind still reeling from the knowledge and started banging at the door. His aunt answered the door pulling her robe tight around her. Surprised to find her nephew there she asked, “Napoleon, what brings you here?”

Pushing his way into the apartment he turned to confront her and then realized, he didn’t know how. 

“Napoleon, you look like death warmed over,” his aunt said worriedly. “Your partner….is he all right?”

Napoleon shook his head, surprised that she would assume that this was about Illya. “Aunt Amy, how did my parents die?”

“I told you, dear. They died in a car crash.” 

“No…,” he said fiercely as he thrust the picture into her hand. “This was taken ten years ago….not seventeen.”

Amy Solo took one look at the picture, brought her hand to her throat, and closed her eyes before saying in a weak voice, “Dear God.” She opened her eyes when she heard the front door slam shut. How could she explain to her nephew the reason she’d lied about his father’s death? Moreover, what was she to do about it now? Shakily going to the fireplace at the far side of the room she threw the photo into the flames and watched it burn, damning her brother for the pain he was causing her beloved nephew.

 

The next morning Illya arrived at headquarters to find he was wanted immediately in Alexander Waverly’s office. Apprehensively making his way there, he wondered if this would be about the picture. Napoleon had assured him …, but that was before he had found out about his father. Stopping at the door, he took a deep breath before entering. Even though he had not been sure of what he’d find, he was surprised. Napoleon’s Aunt Amy was sitting on the sofa. 

“Mr. Kuryakin, do you have any idea where your partner is?” Alexander Waverly queried the young Russian. “He is not answering his communicator or his home phone.”

“No, sir,” Illya responded as he stared at Amy Solo. She had turned to look at him when he entered, her eyes hopeful. At his answer, her face went pale. She was obviously worried about Napoleon.

“Alex, could I speak to Mr. Kuryakin alone?” she pleaded.

Waverly nodded as he looked from Kuryakin to Amy Solo before getting up from his chair. “Of course, my dear.”

Amy Solo regarded the young blond haired Russian from her seat not sure where to begin. “Mr. Kuryakin…Illya, do you have any idea were Napoleon might be?”

“No, m’am, I am afraid I do not,” he answered honestly if somewhat guiltily. 

She looked away for a minute before turning her gaze back at him. “Sit down please.” She requested and waited until he sat down before continuing. “It’s very important that we find my nephew. I don’t know how much he may have told you?” She searched the blue eyes of the man sitting next to her and sighed. “I’m not even sure how much he remembers.” 

“Miss Solo, I am sure you have nothing to worry about. Once Napoleon calms down…,” Illya started to say.

“Dear child, you don’t understand.” Amy Solo wrung her hands. “How can I explain this…it is so very personal.”

Illya stiffened. “Perhaps you should not tell me then.”

She reached out and took his hand. “But I must. You need to understand…he could hurt himself…or his father. Oh dear, this is not coming out right.” She looked away. “You need to know because of how much he loves you.”

Illya pulled his hand away, his face pale. “Madame, you are mistaken.”

“I know Napoleon better than anyone,” Amy Solo asserted. “I raised him from the time he was ten. I watched as he fell in love with his wife, then again with Clara. Even he may not be aware of it, but I know it to be true. That’s what makes this so hard. I have never told this to anyone. Not even Napoleon remembers.”

Illya shook his head not sure he could believe her, not sure why she would even insist..., wondering what it was that was so hard for her to tell?

Amy Solo got up from the sofa and went to the window to steel herself. “Seventeen years ago, Napoleon’s mother and I arrived at their home to find his father, my brother, …thank God we arrived in time.” She closed her eyes not able to continue. 

Illya swallowed. “You mean Napoleon saw his father…with another man?”

Amy Solo shook her head. “There was no other man,” she said quietly and waited for the implication of what she had said to sink in. When she heard an inhale of breath she knew it had. “Napoleon’s mother grabbed him and raced away in her car. I’m sure you can guess the rest. After the car accident, Napoleon was in the hospital for weeks suffering from a concussion. He has no memories of that time. Or at least he didn’t.” She turned back to look at the young man who was so important to her nephew. “Now do you see why it is so important that we find him?”

 

An unkempt Napoleon Solo sat in the booth of the galley on his sailboat, one fist stacked on the other, his chin on top of that. His gun was set beside the glass in front of him. Drinking hadn’t helped at all and he’d come to the conclusion that the past didn’t really matter anymore, only the present. For this he was rather proud of himself. The sound of footsteps coming down to the galley caused him to lookup and he was not surprised to find his partner standing there.

“Are you okay?” Illya asked.

Without moving an inch Napoleon replied, “Okay is relative. I’ll live. I may not enjoy it, but I’ll live.”

Illya came over to where Napoleon sat unsure of how to take that. “Your aunt is very worried about you.” 

“Dear Aunt Amy… she lied to me you know.” Napoleon looked up into his partner’s eyes as he leaned back and stretched his neck muscles. “Sit down, oh great one, and tell me the meaning of life.”

Slipping into the seat across from his partner Illya answered lightly, “Do not pass go and collect $200 dollars?” 

Napoleon couldn’t help but chuckle before letting out a deep sigh. “Memories sure do have a way of coming back to haunt one don’t they?”

“What is it you remember?” Illya asked his gaze piercing.

“Not a whole lot really. More than I would like though.” Napoleon caught the meaning in that gaze. “You know don’t you? Why would a father… do that?” 

Illya shook his head having no answer. “Your aunt seems to think you are in love with me.” 

Caught off guard by the sudden change in subject, Napoleon blinked as he considered that statement. 

“Aren’t you going to deny it?” Illya hid a smile.

“Ummm.” Napoleon debated whether there was any point in denying it. “I’m not sure I can,” he said cautiously.

That was not the answer Illya had expected. He had assumed Napoleon would deny everything. “Soooo, what do you plan to do about it?”

“Do I have to do anything?” The look of horror on Napoleon’s face was almost comical.

Shaking his head with amusement Illya replied, “No, Napoleon, you do not.” 

“If you really needed…I suppose I could...” Napoleon offered apprehensively.

“I have managed without all these years, I am sure I will manage,” Illya said dryly.

“You shouldn’t have to manage,” Napoleon responded indignantly. “I know I may be a little naive here…”

“You are many things, Napoleon. But naive is not one of them,” Illya said with a laugh. “You have never…?”

“It’s not been top on my ‘to do’ list,” Napoleon replied. “Why did you…?”

Illya looked sheepish. “I was young and it was…enjoyable.”

“Really?” Napoleon asked, looking thoughtful. “I would hate to see you…deprived of something enjoyable. In our line of work there are so few things that one finds enjoyable – it’s a shame to deny ourselves… pleasure.

A light bulb went off in Illya’s head. “Is that why you…ah, see so many women?”

Napoleon snickered. “See…that’s a new word for it.”

“Napoleon, you, sir, are a cad,” Illya said. He got up from the bench seat and reached out a hand. “Let’s get back to work shall we.”

Before Napoleon could take the hand offered him, the boat rocked knocking Illya into his lap. A voice from the past filtered down from above. 

“Well, well, well.”

Both men looked up, startled to see an older version of Solo standing in the hatchway. They watched as he walked down the stairway, his eyes gazing lasciviously at the blond on Solo’s lap.

As Illya hurriedly scooted out from behind the table, Napoleon did likewise, standing in front of him, blocking his father’s view. 

“Napoleon, I am perfectly capable of defending my honor,” Illya hissed. He peeked over Solo’s shoulder wanting a better view of this man who was Napoleon’s father. As his brief glimpse had shown him, the resemblance was there. The older man was merely a façade, heavier, his hair almost entirely gray; this man did not carry himself with the grace and confidence of his partner, even his clothing did not have the panache that Napoleon’s apparel normally had. However, it was the leer, more then anything, that did more to point out the differences. Even with the opposite sex Napoleon’s features never expressed such a look.

Napoleon ignored him. “What brings you here?” he asked, his tone hard.

“Now, now. Can’t a man drop in to see his own son?” the man asked.

Napoleon gazed at the man in front of him, trying to decide what his feelings toward him were. He found he had none. He did not know this man, he might as well have been a stranger, who was not the same as his memories suggested. “Seventeen years seem a long time to go between visits. How did you find me?” 

The older man ignored the question and shrugged. “Why don’t you introduce me to your…friend?”

Illya’s fall into Napoleon’s lap had been all innocence. However, the elder Solo’s question suggested he felt it meant otherwise. Napoleon hesitated; he could just deny the whole thing. After nothing had happened, nothing might ever happen. Were his feelings for Illya merely a sign of an inherited deviant bend, or were they real.

“I think not.” He took a step closer to his father. “Perhaps it would be better if you just left. You didn’t seem to have any problems leaving before.”

Solo’s father pulled himself up, with what little dignity he had left. “I assure you it was not my idea. My dear sister felt…it would be better”

“Perhaps she was right,” Napoleon stated, he hesitated a moment before continuing. “Why did you…?” he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know but he had to ask.

The elder Solo was unable to meet his son’s eyes. “I was…drunk…I would never have… Surely you can understand… the needing…the desire?” His voice pleaded for understanding, as his eyes took in the young blond standing behind his son.

Napoleon was flabbergasted. It was all too much for him to take in right now. “Why are you here?” he asked again, putting a stop to the explanations, flimsy as they were.

“It’s like this…I need money. Quite a bit actually.”

Napoleon heard Illya smirk behind him, as he let out a laugh. Money! Napoleon went through money the same way he went through women – fast. “Have you come to the wrong place!”

“But surely…this boat?” Solo senior waved his arms.

“This boat…is the only thing I own.” Napoleon said. “But if it will get rid of you, you’re welcome to it.”

“Napoleon!” Illya said shocked. The boat was Napoleon’s pride and joy, to just give it away? The idea was ludicrous.

Solo Senior, eyes squinting, looked closer at the blond man. “I know you…London, ten years ago. That bastard promised me a picture and he never came through.”

Napoleon pulled his partner past his father, careful to keep his body between them, and up the stairway to the deck. He looked down into the galley. “It’s all yours and may I never see you again.”

“Napoleon! I cannot believe you did that,” Illya stated in shock. “You love that boat.”

“Maybe I found something…or someone…I love better.” He might regret his decision later, but he didn’t think so. He found caring for his partner, no matter in what form, more important than material objects.

Illya snorted.

“Hey, is that any way to thank me?” Napoleon complained, hiding a smirk as they walked up the dock. “I just saved your ass.”

“What do you mean you saved my…oh!” Illya stopped his eyes widened as he realized the implication. Then he hurried after his partner, whose laughter floated back. Perhaps something would come of this. Perhaps not. Who knew what the future held.

The END


End file.
